Destiny's Sorting
by Dark Lady Mara
Summary: An AU sorting hat story. The hat makes one choice that can potentially turn the wizarding world upside down. Eventual HGDM and HGSS rating to increase if necessary.
1. Chapter 1

**Destiny's Sorting**

Notes: This plot bunny was based on a rather bizarre dream I had, although the more I thought about it, the more I found it could make sense. I've read fanfics in which the Sorting Hat puts Harry in Slytherin, but I don't think I've ever seen this variant before. So, I hope you can try setting your preconceptions about the characters aside and considering how different the Potterverse would be if events had played out this way.

Pairings: HG/DM and HG/SS. The beginning obviously isn't a romance (they're 11, yeesh), but there's going to be tension between these characters with the passage of time. I suppose we'll see what develops. ;)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Feedback: Yes please!

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_You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
These patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

As the hat completed its song, everyone applauded loudly, and Hermione could see relieved smiles on the faces of a few other first years on line around her. Neville seemed particularly pleased, perhaps because she'd ceased her whispered tirade about which spells they might need. But Hermione, unlike her classmates, suddenly felt a spike of anxiety. Since she'd read so much about the magical world over the summer, she could have been confident she was prepared for any test of knowledge the hat gave, but this was a complete unknown to her.

Professor McGonagall had unrolled a sheet of parchment and now began to call names. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl pulled the hat down over her eyes, and there was a few moments' pause before the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right side of the hall answered with cheers and shouts.

"Bones, Susan!"

_A hat is going to examine my psyche._ Hermione's nervousness faded as she fought back the urge to giggle, wondering what her parents would think, or even what she would have thought just a few months earlier. The categories that had been set forward now seemed different from what she'd read in _Hogwarts, A History_, which had gone out of its way not to show bias towards or against any of the houses, merely noting some of the more prominent alumni of each. Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. Well, she did enjoy learning, maybe she would be a Ravenclaw. Was she loyal? Brave? Cunning?

Her reveries were interrupted as Professor McGonagall called out, "Granger, Hermione!"

The entire hall was watching her.

And so she stepped forward and jammed the hat on her head.

The hat was quiet for a moment, then began, "Hmmmmmm, how _interesting_. You have a clever mind, very clever, I see! But yet - you feel a need to prove yourself, constantly show others what you can do. Why?... Ahhhhhh, you have _muggle_ parents. I see, I see... Such a _quandry_ you are, a noble mind and yet without the noble upbringing. You will surprise many in the magical world. There are still some who believe in the supremacy of bloodlines, obsessing over pedigrees as if breeding dogs... You would do well in Ravenclaw, of course. But if you _really_ want to prove yourself, to shine with your own fame and not that of others... and you can, you can! - there is another choice. Are you brave enough to be the one who does this, who mends the split between pedigreed and non-pedigreed alike? I have been looking for that muggleborn... Ohhh, are you _fiery_! Yes... I think you just might be...

"SLYTHERIN!"

---------

A murmur broke out in the Great Hall, starting with the students from pureblood families whispering to their neighbors, and eventually spreading to all. Albus Dumbledore exchanged a glance with the head of Slytherin house over Professor McGonagall's empty seat, and both rose wordlessly as McGonagall tried to restore order so the sorting could continue.

"Miss Granger, may we have a word with you before you join your house table?" asked Dumbledore in a friendly-yet-serious voice. Nodding mutely, she permitted the hand he paternally placed on her shoulder to lead her into a side chamber near the head table. The other man swept in shortly behind them, closing the door as he did.

"Hermione, this is Professor Snape, head of Slytherin. I believe something rather curious has just occurred." Dumbledore surveyed her over the top of his glasses, his blue eyes considering her as if she were a difficult puzzle. "Forgive me for being intrusive, but I know of no pure-blooded line named Granger, nor do I believe any witch or wizard has recently married into such a family. Tell me, Hermione... is there anyone magical in your family at all?"

Her eyes went wide as she was hit with the realization of what had happened. "No, Professor."

"Then it is as I thought," Dumbledore mused gravely, stroking his beard. After a few moments' quiet reflection, he added, "It appears you understand something of the oddity of this situation. Tell me what you know."

Nervous as she was, Hermione was always eager to answer such a question. "Well, I read _Hogwarts, A History_ cover-to-cover over the summer," she started, and Dumbledore acquired an impish twinkle in his gaze at this revelation. "... and I learned that sorting occurs by the criteria laid forth by each of the four founders, so those sorted into each house satisfy what their respective founder would have wanted. And Salazar Slytherin, he - he was the one who broke with Gryffindor about allowing children of non-magic parents to attend Hogwarts, wasn't he? So he probably would want those in his house to be purebloods, or as close as possible, in addition to cunning and whatever else the hat said."

"Correct," Snape cut in, whirling around from his place on the far side of the room where he had previously been content to examine the miserable night on the other side of the window glass while Dumbledore spoke. "Slytherin House favors purebloods; there are some halfbloods, and a few individuals who were less than half, but never - " He moved in one step closer from the window to emphasize the point, "_never_ has there been a muggleborn in Slytherin."

Snape stared at her stone-faced, and Hermione struggled to hold up to his gaze. "This means the hat must have considered you exceptional indeed, Miss Granger. But it also means you may have a difficult time in Slytherin. With the headmaster's permission - " he looked sideways at Dumbledore, who nodded, "you should have the option of being re-sorted if you choose it."

Hermione studied Snape and Dumbledore in turn, trying to figure out what they would prefer and finding no straightforward answers. She certainly hadn't expected to have to make any difficult choices like this on her first day! Well, what the hat had said about her _was_ true, everything it had read of her personality. Books and cleverness really weren't all there was to her. She could do more, and maybe she had to trust its judgement.

With a shaky sigh, she tried, "I'll stay where I am."

Snape's expression immediately seemed to soften slightly as she officially became one of his. "Then welcome to Slytherin." He briefly shook her hand, then turned to regard Dumbledore. "The others will see her as either the worst of them, because of her lineage, or the best, because she managed to become a Slytherin in spite of it. I should speak with them briefly to ensure they consider the latter." Dumbledore again nodded wordlessly. Snape took one step towards the door into the Great Hall, then turned back to Hermione. "And Hermione, I advise you not to needlessly flaunt what you've read, as you did earlier. You will quickly find that the serpents' den is a constant matchup in cunning, and it is wiser not to readily reveal just what one knows. Or does not know." He cocked one eyebrow at her, then left.

Dumbledore had started chuckling before the door had even fully closed, and Hermione turned to him with surprise. "Ah, dear old Severus does have a penchant for the dramatic." The twinkle was back in his light blue eyes, making him look more like the muggle St. Nicholas than the greatest wizard alive. "That was his way of encouraging you, Miss Granger," he explained, patting her on the shoulder again with an avuncular look in his eye.

Thoughtful now, Hermione recalled her friends from the train Harry, Ron, and Neville with a pang of regret. She wondered if this meant none of them would talk to her anymore. "I had sort of thought I would be sorted into Gryffindor," she admitted, recalling that Dumbledore had also been of that house.

"You know, Miss Granger, I think in some ways you were," he answered cryptically, searching the numerous pockets of his star-and-moon-covered purple robe. "Mint?" he offered, turning up the desired package. She shook her head, and he removed one for himself before going on. "Since you've read so much, I assume you also know something about the fallen Lord Voldemort?"

Now she felt doubly confused. "Yes, but what does that have to do with this?"

"His campaign against the established order was based on bigotry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore answered, his eyes now free of any pretense or biasing emotion. "Witches and wizards of purer blood attempting to gain power over those they saw as lesser. Over the centuries, there have been numerous attempts to defeat that sentiment, none of which were fully successful. I think Godric Gryffindor's hat out there realizes that only the young are able to learn or unlearn hatred, and for some time now, ever since it learned of Voldemort, it has hoped to find someone who could be a messenger to an entire generation of young witches and wizards. It needed someone who could go to those young Slytherins who would take pride in their family and show them that muggleborns can be just as good, and it needed someone who could still befriend the rest and show them not all Slytherins are bad. And the hat chose you to fulfill both tasks."

A gentle smile touched Dumbledore's mouth. "Miss Granger, you are now part of Gryffindor's legacy."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione tried her hardest to keep her nervousness off her face when she returned to the Great Hall and walked step by unnerving step towards the Slytherin table. The eyes of the nine first-years at the end of the table were all trained expectantly on her; beyond them, a number of the older students seemed to be sneaking glances at her as well. Judging from what Professor Snape had said, her peers were going to expect a show from her, and she hoped her performance would be adequate.

Sliding into place at the end of the bench, she glanced around at the silent faces. "Hello," she tried.

They continued watching her silently.

"So you're the Mudbl- the muggleborn?" a sharp-featured blond boy asked coolly, his face betraying nothing more than his voice did.

Trying to figure out what Snape would tell her to do, Hermione put on her most laid-back smile. "That's right. First to ever get into Slytherin."

The others sitting around her snapped their heads back in the direction of the blond boy in anticipation of the return, more resembling spectators at a muggle tennis match than the fearsome young serpents she'd been warned about. "So you must be good for something, then," the blond boy drawled, lazily picking up his fork and twirling it about one tine that was still resting on his plate. After a few long moments, his impassive gaze settled on Hermione again, seeming to be sizing her up. "Do some magic for us."

Was _that_ all she had to do to pass this boy's test! Hermione couldn't stop herself from breaking into a grin that was equal parts triumphant and superior. "All right." She pulled her wand out of the pocket of her robes and pointed it at one of the two rather large boys seated between her and the blond. "_Emorphio_."

At once, the drumstick the boy had been halfway towards lifting to his mouth appeared back on his plate and a lump of coal instead appeared in its place. "What the-" he started to sputter, turning to Hermione and then to the blond boy in disbelief, as the three girls across the table from him burst into laughter.

"That's an advanced bit of magic," the blond boy muttered grudgingly towards his companion, looking at Hermione again with a degree of respect even his well-schooled features could not completely conceal.

"It's called a switching spell," Hermione explained to the large boy, who still looked horribly confused. "I didn't get your name yet?"

"Just call them Crabbe and Goyle, everyone else does," the blond boy answered distractedly, climbing out of his place at the table and pushing the two boys in question aside so he could sit next to Hermione. "And I'm Draco Malfoy. Now," he continued, looking greatly interested, "show me something else useful."

Grinning wryly, Hermione stole a quick glance in the direction of the head table, hoping either Dumbledore or Snape had witnessed her first victory. However, both of them seemed to be looking in the direction of Harry at the Gryffindor table, Dumbledore beaming at him and Snape looking as though he were tempted to poison him.

---------

As soon as it became obvious to the other Slytherins that Draco had taken special interest in Hermione, they started to relax their social boundaries and include her in their activities. She quickly learned that the children of pureblood families usually knew one another long before starting at Hogwarts because of the frequent social invitations exchanged by families considering themselves upper crust, which explained why so many of those in her house formed cliques with one another and showed no interest in talking to students from other houses.

Draco spent most evenings after Hermione had returned from the library regaling her with tales of his father's large library of banned books on the dark arts and various restricted substances he had athis manor. She was always tempted to respond disapprovingly, but most of the time she found her academic curiosity winning out.

"You have a stock of dragon's blood?" she gasped one evening in response to a story of his. "That's very hard to find. The Ministry of Magic keeps close watch on who's in possession of it because it has so many dangerous uses, like in Shielding Draughts to protect the drinker against stunning spells and other restraints aurors use."

"My father has a lot of connections," Draco replied with an unctuous grin. "You want to come over to the Manor sometime and brew a few things?"

"That sounds wonderful!"

"Try not to fall in the cauldron this time, Draco," Millicent Bulstrode muttered from an armchair by the fire where she was lazily flipping through the pages of a magazine.

He snorted in her direction. "I didn't _fall_ in. You tripped me with your enormous leg, then _sat_ on me while you and Pansy stuffed me in."

Millicent shrugged, still not removing her eyes from the pages of her reading, and Hermione broke down in a fit of the giggles. The Bloody Baron drifted into the common room, pausing only a moment to examine a bemused Hermione and an enraged Draco, then continued compulsively scrubbing his silver-stained hands.

One evening, one of the older students tried to posture at Slytherin's new muggleborn. Draco, who had by now completely taken Hermione under his wing like some interesting pet, informed him that Hermione knew more about the Dark Arts than some seventh years. Hermione didn't bother to correct the statement, since she knew enough names of curses to have some idea what to start threateningly muttering about while pointing her wand at the older boy's testicles.

After that, anyone who took offense at her bloodlines was content to glower at her from the other side of the common room.

The first week of courses was fascinating, and Hermione enjoyed every class, even History of Magic. She turned out to be quite good at Transfiguration, and she suspected her housemates felt lucky to have her around for help. However, her first practical exam in the type of knowledge Snape had hoped to instruct her in, the less academic kind, did not come until that Friday in double potions.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape purred, giving a significant glance to the Slytherins in the classroom, especially Draco and Hermione. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic." He paused again to scowl at Harry, who was sharing a bench with Hermione. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed this speech. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Harry leaning fractionally into the aisle to exchange a look with Ron.

Unfortunately, she was not the only one who noticed. An angry snapping voice replaced Snape's earlier fluid tones. "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Almost before the urge to raise her hand could enter Hermione's head, she caught a very sharp glare from a pair of black eyes. Although Snape was scowling at Harry again just a moment later, she knew she had not imagined it.

She kept her hand down.

"Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

At the bench immediately to Hermione's left were Crabbe and Goyle, shaking with silent laughter. Snape had casually glanced in her direction again to make sure she still was keeping her hand down, and she wondered why he hadn't also made some move to keep them behaving.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

"And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry was still silent, studying his folded hands, and a cold smile spread across Snape's face. After a few more uncomfortable moments, he finally flicked one eyebrow in Hermione's direction. Hoping fervently that she'd understood what was happening, she at last timidly raised one hand.

With a fairly convincing expression of surprise on his features, Snape replied, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She took a deep breath and focused on keeping her tone of voice as unshowy, even lazy, as possible. _Just channel Draco_. "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping solution called the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a common antidote for poisoning. And..." she frowned for a moment, trying to remember all his questions. "Monkshood and wolfsbane are antiquated names for the same plant, most often called aconite."

An larger, colder smile appeared on Snape's features this time. "_Very_ good, Miss Granger. Five points to Slytherin."

Although Slytherins all around the room were exchanging superior grins and elbowing any Gryffindors within reach of them - across the aisle, Ron winced and turned around to scowl at Blaise Zabini as a scrap of parchment folded into a fairly good approximation of a doxy, complete with biting action, bounced off the back of his head - Hermione knew she was the only one present who caught the double meaning of Snape's words.

Harry, for his part, was continuing to stare sulkily at Snape's turned back. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, not sure whose side to take. "It's okay, Harry," she finally whispered, patting his hand under the table. "Next time."

---------

A furious knocking resounded through the wooden door, followed shortly by McGonagall's screech. "Dumbledore!"

"Why, good morning, Minerva," the older wizard replied mildly, looking up from the stack of parchment on his desk to casually wave one finger in the direction of the door and lower the wards. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

McGonagall stalked across the office, looking no less sour as a woman than she often did in her feline form, and slapped the morning's edition of _The Daily Prophet_ down on his desk. "The Gringotts break-in. The vault searched was one emptied earlier that same day. You brought the Stone to Hogwarts because you already had reason to suspect someone was looking for it, didn't you, Albus."

Dumbledore's facial expression grew more grave. "Alas, Minerva. You've sleuthed things out correctly yet again."

The witch opposite him fell silent. She sank down into one of the chintz armchairs in front of the desk. "Why were you keeping this a secret?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry for not telling you before, Minerva. I had hoped to keep rumors from spreading more quickly than they needed to. Such a nasty thing speculation is when it gets out of hand.

"I had received an owl from my friend Mr. Flamel a few days earlier reporting that a location charm had been done on him when he opened an unmarked piece of mail. He then noticed his wards were being broken down. Terrified, he and his wife fled their residence immediately, in time to avoid the intruder. In their absence, the house was ransacked, but nothing was taken.

"Nicholas was afraid the intruder had been looking for the Stone, so he advised me to immediately take it into my safekeeping at Hogwarts. It seems he was right in his suspicion that Gringotts was no longer safe. And so, I'm afraid the section of the third floor I said I was using as a combination private laboratory and Belgian bowling alley is actually the protection I've set up for the Stone, with Hagrid's help."

McGonagall's thoughts spun wildly, and it took her several tries before she was able to collect them well enough to speak. "Flamel, of all people, would have had the strongest possible protections around his house! And the Stone had been in one of Gringotts' most high-security vaults. It is even worse than the news would have us believe." She paused, then sank back in her chair and finished faintly, "That would take a wizard of great power."

"Yes, or great familiarity with the magic of the goblins. Possibly both." Dumbledore straightened his stack of parchments, slid them out from under the newspaper, and rose to carry them to a filing chest on the other side of the room. He opened one door to find the compartment already overstuffed with papers, then forced it closed and tried another. "I also suspect the individual in question has no need for the Stone's ability to produce gold. If he could open one Gringotts vault, he could have opened many more and walked out with as much gold as he could carry. This is why I am taking the threat so seriously, Minerva. A powerful individual desperately wants the Elixir of Life, for reasons unknown."

Dumbledore slowly turned to meet McGonagall's gaze. She was silent as she considered. Perhaps the situation wasn't as dire as he feared. Maybe there really hadn't been any break-in at a practically break-proof Gringotts vault. Maybe the person had an in with some goblins and had gotten their help...

But that was still a frightening prospect. And he had still managed to break Flamel's wards. McGonagall pressed her lips into a grimace. "All right, Dumbledore. I understand why you didn't want to cause panic." She rolled up the newspaper and moved to playfully swat him. "But you still should have told me!"

Chortling, Dumbledore transfigured the newspaper into an origami rose. "For you, my dear."

"You're incorrigible, Albus," she said, but couldn't help half-smiling.

---------

At the end of class a bit past two that afternoon, the other students were clearing up their workbenches and stoppering small vials of the boil-curing solution they'd prepared. Harry gently stirred the light blue mixture with his ladle one last time and shot a sidelong glance at the girl with whom he'd partnered. "You're sure we did this right?"

"Positive," Hermione replied, frowning at their vial of potion as she continued meticulously labelling the bottles. "Why?"

"Because the man hates me," Harry replied, dropping his voice and nodding in the direction of Snape. "If he can find the slightest reason to take off marks, he will."

Hermione bit her lip, uncertain how to answer. "Well, he is a Hogwarts professor, so I'm sure that means he won't do anything too terribly biased..."

Harry shot her a skeptical look. "Thanks, Hermione." He headed for the back of the room to queue up by the faucet and wash his hands.

Hermione carried the marked vial up to Snape's desk, where her head of house was watching her with a completely nondescript expression on his face. "Could I have a word with you after class, sir?"

Snape nodded without looking at her. "I expected you'd want one."

Draco was sauntering up to the desk with a sample of the solution he and Millicent had prepared, followed closely by Goyle bearing his own vial. The younger Malfoy beamed haughtily as Snape yet again stoked his ego by commenting on the perfection of his potion brewing ability, and even Goyle, whose concoction was only approximately the right color and consistency, received a cursory nod of acknowledgment from Snape. It pained Hermione to have to agree with Harry, but the potions master did appear more phlegmatic about Goyle's mediocre efforts than he would have been about a Gryffindor's.

Her thoughts were disrupted when Draco paused on his way back to his desk to nudge her and give her an enticing leer. "Catch you after?" When she mechanically gave her assent, he winked and sauntered off.

The exchange had not gone unnoticed.

When the other students were finally filing out of the classroom, Snape gestured for Hermione to follow as he swung open the heavy wooden door to his office and nudged something that could have been a snake were it not for its downy coat of feathers off the seat of a leather chair. The creature hissed its annoyance at him as he took its place on the chair, then it slithered to the floor and ensconced itself in a dark corner under the desk. Hermione, a bit more timidly, took one of the seats across the desk.

"You ask a lot of questions, Hermione," Snape said by way of opening.

Hermione didn't bother trying to figure out whether her head of house was offering praise or constructive criticism. "So what was it that happened in class today? And why are you so interested in directing me when you let Crabbe and Goyle get away with anything and reinforce Draco's opinion of himself as a royal heir to Slytherin himself?"

Snape steepled his fingers. "Every young Slytherin's needs are different, and I am rather more interested in schooling my students for the life that awaits them than teaching them to parrot back the ingredients of a Wit-Sharpening Potion. Besides," he continued with a toothily vicious grin, "_someone_ must make up for Minerva McGonagall's biases."

Hermione was briefly so nonplused by Snape's philosophy that, for once, she had nothing to say. Snape spent a long moment studying his interlaced fingers, then chose to continue.

"I'm glad you've made progress with your first lesson. Here, then, is another one - be careful whom you trust." His black eyes glinted strangely at her.

Then it clicked in her mind. "Are you talking about Draco?"

Snape's eyes were nearly drilling into her. "Just be careful. Always." He lazily studied his hands once more, then added, "Was there anything else?"

"No, sir." Hermione rose.

"Good day, Miss Granger."

---------

Ron was cautiously nibbling one of Hagrid's rock cakes while Hagrid boisterously reminisced about Charlie Weasley over a cup of tea that Harry suspected may have been spiked with something else when he noticed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ lying off to the side.

"Could I take a look at your paper, Hagrid?" Harry tried, doing his best not to interrupt the monologue about snorkelbacks too badly.

Hagrid chuckled. "Sure, Harry, but yeh won't find much o' value in that rag."

Ron and Hagrid continued talking as Harry leafed through the newspaper. He stopped when he came to an article that Hagrid had marked - "Gringotts Break-In Latest." Harry had to read it twice to be sure it said what he thought it did.

He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his robes, vowing to discuss it with Ron at dinner.

* * *

Thank you for all your reviews, and I've done my best to take them to heart. Let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Snape's feathered familiar Esme is borrowed from one of the classic HG/SS fics, Pawn to Queen. And the Bloody Baron's compulsive handwashing, of course, was a reference to Macbeth. :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N. Chapter 3 has at last arrived. I'm sorry for taking so long on this one! I'll try to make the next update faster.

Thank you kindlyfor your reviews. :) Kimara, there's going to be one more chapter of the group's first year, two at most, and then we're going to move forward to the war and Hermione's teenage years. There are a few things that still have to be established first, though. duj, I have indeed thought about some of the problems Harry and Ron will be having without Hermione's brain at their constant beck and call, and that'll be important later on. Elvira, I've tried to make this chapter meatier for you. And finally, Pearl, I promised I would dedicate this chapter to you. So here you go, a dedication. ;)

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"Interesting," Lucius was saying, crouched down leaning into the fireplace of his study. The Slytherin common room was before him, looking mostly as he remembered it, although it seemed smaller now. "And yet very stupid on the part of your Mudblood to prance about as if she owns Slytherin. Does she trust you?"

The only occupant of the room, his son, was sitting stiffly in one of the chairs by the fire. It pleased Lucius that the boy was still intimidated by him even when they were separated by half of Britain. "I think so, Father," Draco replied, keeping his eyes lowered.

"Ah, better yet. You're a dutiful son, Draco. Isn't it interesting how often Mudbloods demonstrate their own stupidity without any urging?" He neither waited for nor expected an answer. "Very well, I'm pleased you've had such a productive time in school. Since I shall be in Aberdeen on business this weekend, would you be so good as to get your friend into town so I may _speak _with her then? Perhaps she can convey a message to any other Mudbloods in that school who have begun to think too highly of themselves... I shall look forward to seeing you both." Clearly thinking himself very clever for his insinuations, Lucius leered at his son and then ducked his head out of the fireplace without further farewell.

Draco waited a moment to be certain his father was truly gone, then reacted in the first way that occurred to him - by grabbing a pillow and punching it as hard as he could.

I HATE him_ punch  
_HATE him_ punch  
_HATE him_ punch  
_HATE him_ punch_

When his fist was finally getting sore and a dense cloud of down feathers had begun wafting around the room, he dropped back down into the chair and groaned. Father didn't even trust him enough to let him get through a week without having to report back. And now that he wanted just one thing for himself, his father, as always, was going to take it away.

"Draco?" The very girl he was going to hand over to his bloody, effing, bloody father had entered the common room and was coming over to sit on the arm of his chair. "What's wrong?"

He kept his face in his hands so he wouldn't have to look at Hermione. "Don't wanna talk," he muttered.

She leaned over and comfortingly wrapped one arm over his shoulders, and he could feel a mass of wild, curly hair against his neck.

---

Severus Snape had never been a morning person, although he could acclimate himself to unpleasant schedules when necessary. It had been a useful skill for a Death Eater, and it was still useful for a schoolteacher coping with insomnia.

It was barely past sunrise when he awoke, turning over in bed with a groan and nearly squashing Esme. His feathered familiar slithered out from under him with a hiss and coiled herself around one of the posts of the bed. "You'rrre a hazard, Severusss." He ignored her and staggered across the cold flagstones towards the bathroom, Esme hissing at his back. When she was convinced he was out of sight, the serpentine Quetzal slid to the floor, moving silently on the feathers of her belly, and nosed open his bottom dresser drawer to grab one of the eggs he kept as treats for her. It was supposed to be a hidden stash. She swallowed the egg whole, then slithered back to her original place on the bed and tried to look as innocent as possible.

Severus returned looking less groggy than before, although his hair was disheveled and he was still stalking about in his knickers. He paused to scrutinize Esme on the bed, round lump visible in the middle of her snakelike body and all. "You've been sneaking eggs again."

Esme flicked her tongue in mock horror. "Of courssse not!"

He grunted. "I'm telling the house elves to move them." Esme made more irritated hissing noises at this, but Severus decided not to encourage her by responding. He flicked open his closet door. What to wear today. Maybe something... black.

He sat down to button his frock coat on the chair by the crystal waterfall. Legend had it Rowena Ravenclaw herself had created the crystalline sculpture to brighten up the dungeons of the castle. It refracted colored light in a hundred different directions on the wall opposite whenever sunlight shone into the lake from the east. The dungeons were almost completely underwater, so it was the closest they could have to a proper window. It was effective, if a bit quirky, and Severus suspected there was more magic to it than was immediately obvious. Of course, the same could be said for half of Hogwarts castle, he mused as the flagstones under his bare feet automatically glowed a dull red to provide heat against the cold winter air.

Esme was climbing up his back now and wrapped herself, feather boa-like, around his shoulders in the Quetzal equivalent of a hug. "I'm sssorry. I won't do it again."

"That's all right, Esme," he murmured, stroking her soft back and briefly permitting himself to be comforted by her. Esme wasn't just the only creature alive who would hug Severus Snape; she was the only one he would permit.

"I love you, Sssevvie."

"_Don't_ call me Sevvie," he snapped, pushing Esme back off his shoulders. Quiet snuffles of reptilian laughter followed.

"Have good day, Sssevvie!" Esme hissed after him as he got up to leave. He slammed the door behind him, taking pleasure in making as much noise as possible, and started stalking up to the Great Hall. In the corridor, he almost took house points from an aggravatingly bright-eyed third-year Ravenclaw for being overly perky too early in the morning, but Dumbledore was approaching from the other direction, and Severus knew he couldn't get caught abusing the points system again.

And now Dumbledore was upon him, looking fully awake and as jolly as ever, sweeping him along towards the Great Hall with his conversation. Severus grimaced, but he knew when he had been trounced. He let the garrulous headmaster carry him away from the hapless Ravenclaw. Bloody old bat always woke up early. And even after all these years, he still wouldn't give up on Severus, either.

Severus was halfway through dispiritedly picking through his breakfast before it became obvious that the annoying old bat meant to bring up a serious topic of conversation. "Oh. I wonder, Severus..."

He glanced up at Dumbledore. "Yes?"

Albus smiled to himself. If he couldn't engage the old boy in small talk, at least he could give him some work to do. He always seemed less depressed when he was busy. Making progress with Severus was incredibly difficult, but so satisfying when it succeeded. "Madam Pince informs me a particular volume has turned up missing from the library. Normally that would not be of note, but it was from the restricted section, and I should like to know in advance if a student might use it for something we should, ah, be alert for."

Severus grunted. "Lovely." He could just imagine some idiot child dabbling in dark magic thinking it would make a splendid prank. If only any of them knew how easy it was to become entangled in its web... and how hard it was to avoid using it again once one had felt its lure... He found it hard to get into an overly cynical mood, though, since he also felt a surge of pride that Dumbledore had chosen to consult him instead of Quirrel. _Ha._ "I don't believe the library has anything overly dangerous in stock, but I shall investigate for you. What book was it?"

"Dark Runes."

"Mmmm. That's a classic. I can take a look through my copy before morning classes."

A group of Ravenclaws was up early studying over coffee, but the Great Hall was mostly deserted otherwise. Severus glanced down at the Slytherin table. At the end nearest him, he could see the younger Malfoy and Hermione huddled together over a thick tome. _Hermione. _He watched her, feeling a distinct sense of longing as he did. Once the girl had gotten her sense of subtlety, she'd be any teacher's wet dream. Even his. Especially his, given how she could almost remind him of a young version of Arada.

Arada... his thoughts pinwheeled into nostalgia as he uncovered old memories lost, from a time back before he was what he was.

---

Draco finally pushed the thick astronomy tome away in frustration. It was the first time all term he had looked at the book. "It's no use. I'm buggered on the test tonight. Good thing I don't care about this rubbish anyway; I have a scale model of the galaxy back at the Manor. You don't have to memorize a thing, just look it up."

"That's not the point," Hermione replied with a frown, "and it would have been better if you'd been keeping up with the class all along, but it's not too late to get in some last-minute review." She reached to grab the book again, but Draco clamped down on her hand, eliciting a sigh from her. "All right then, I promised to meet a couple of people in the library this afternoon to review. Do you want to join us?"

Draco scowled. "Those people wouldn't happen to be Potty and the Weasel?"

"Well - okay, yes, they are, but it wouldn't kill y-"

Draco put one hand up in midair. "No. No chance." Hermione had started opening her mouth to answer, but he got another idea and cut her off. "You really care about my doing well on the test, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"If you care that much," he continued, "let's make a wager. Something that'll motivate me."

She looked wary. "Like what?"

"Say if I get an O on the test, you agree to skip out with me the day before we're supposed to leave for Christmas. Somewhere off grounds. Say... Aberdeen."

"Draco! We can't do that, we're not allowed off school property. And how would we even get there?"

He grinned viciously. "Well, is it a deal, or not?"

Hermione sighed, giving him an expression midway between her McGonagall face and complete resignation. "Well, I suppose if it'll help you, fine. It's a deal."

"You're loosening up, Hermione," Draco said, sipping his glass of blackberry juice. "I like that."

---

Severus returned to his office at half past seven. Esme was nowhere in sight, presumably curled up in front of the fireplace in the bedroom again. Pursing his lips intently, he scanned the top shelf of his bookcase until he came across the appropriate volume and levitated it down. Like most texts on the dark arts, in his opinion, it was a fascinatingly foreboding tome, the pages made of some thick, skin-like papyrus that sent cold shivers of energy down one's fingers when touching it. And in a sense, it was true; there was an enormous amount of power trapped in the book. Runes were powerful objects, and even if no spell were cast or any other magic done, the simple act of writing a dark rune invoked a great deal of its power. It was difficult to even print a book such as this one, and there were relatively few copies existing.

_Such an enticing thing._ Severus set the book down on his desk and opened it, flipping through the pages as slowly as possible, letting his hands linger on each one and the power of it saturate him. Even now, ten years since he'd last used any dark magic at all - even now, the temptation of it called out to him, so sensual and alluring. Every day was a battle not to give in to those urges. And yet sometimes it was so satisfying to just feel the presence of the dark, like a lover whose body he had memorized, sinuous curve by sinuous curve.

_Stop it. Concentrate._ Frowning, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his thoughts and brush away the temptation. He could easily sit there all day basking in its feeling if he didn't pull himself away. At length, when he felt he had restored his control, he opened his eyes again, steeled his facial expression, and began to read as impassively as he could.

If someone had stolen the book, perhaps it meant they intended to invoke a rune so powerful its magic would linger around the book after it had been cast. Severus stroked his upper lip, then skipped to the advanced section of the book and kept looking. But now there were far fewer suspects in the theft. It was probably only some of the more advanced seventh years who would even be able to handle this level of magic.

Severus sighed. It made no sense. Anyone that skilled with runes wasn't likely to invoke them lightly. Probably not some student's prank, then. So why...

His heart skipped a beat. He was open to the page of _isa_, a rune of Celtic origin, used for paralyzing one's enemy, man or beast. _Beast. That beast of Hagrid's. Bloody hell_. Severus slammed the book shut. It was Quirrell, he _knew _it. Albus never believed him when he would tell him how suspicious he was of Quirrell, would say, _Severus, my boy, you can't be so paranoid_, always thought Severus was just some crazy ex-Death Eater who never trusted anyone whenever he told him how much he distrusted a man... Severus snarled with manic rage as he extricated himself from his chair and stalked towards the fireplace to floo Dumbledore. At least now he had evidence someone had been in Hogwarts looking for the stone and could convince Dumbledore to get more people to set up a series of defenses for it...

As Severus was fumbling for his floo powder, a knock sounded from the door. "As you can see from the posting, my office hours are 8:32 to 8:34 this evening, and I have no desire to be bothered before then," he snarled, straightening.

He had fully expected that would have been adequate to send any student back to their dormitory whimpering, but the door opened a crack anyway. Hermione Granger was peering in at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Professor. I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas in case I didn't get to see you before leaving for break."

He stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. It had been ages since a student had thought of him around the holidays. And once again he found himself thinking of Arada, his lover now forever lost to him, and how even on the night he'd walked out on her to give himself to the Dark Lord she'd had_ that_ look on her face, the one that said even then she ached for him, wanted to _fix _him... It was such a horrible flaw, that belief that everyone in trouble could be and wanted to be saved. Arada had been especially twisted, going out of her way to find and collect as many damaged people as she could, playing nurse to them all. It was the only role she knew how to play.

Miss Granger, although tempered by her wit, her damnable need to prove herself all the time, and a very cunning Slytherin mind, still reminded him of her sometimes. She insisted on attaching her loyalties to Draco, and to that idiot Potter, and even to him.

It was such an idiotic belief. And yet somehow a touching one.

She was still watching him timidly from the doorway, and he realized he had better say something. "Er, thank you, Miss Granger. And a happy Christmas to you as well."

She smiled and ducked back out of the room.

---

At half-past three that afternoon, two Gryffindors and a Slytherin were in the library. Harry's quill scratched down a sheet of parchment as rapidly as he could move his hand; Hermione was rattling off information from last week's class, the latter half of which he'd unfortunately slept through. It was so hard to stay alert through a midnight class, especially when you were out on a dark winter night and there wasn't enough ambient light for Professor Sinistra to be able to tell if your eyes were open or not.

"All right, all right, slow down," Ron interrupted. "I know you're brilliant and all, 'Mione, but you're also mental." The girl scowled at him, so he added, "It's just that most of what you're saying isn't going to be on the exam at all, I'll bet."

"Maybe," she sighed, "but you're trying to go on vacation early. Just focus for the rest of the day, and then we'll have all of Christmas to unwind."

Harry, who had stopped writing for a moment to listen to the exchange, felt his mood take a downturn at the mention of Christmas. Everyone else seemed to be looking forward to the holiday, but all he had to anticipate was a series of quiet days alone and forgotten in the Gryffindor dormitory.

"I'm not unwinding over break," Ron replied indignantly. "It'll be the busiest time of year for us, don'tcha reckon, Harry? We'll be practically alone in the castle, and there's so much exploring to do."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Y- you're staying here over Christmas? What about your family?"

"Well, I didn't want my best mate alone on the holidays." Ron grinned sheepishly. "Happy Christmas."

"Wow. I didn't - thank you, Ron!" Harry grinned back over the table.

Madam Pince, who was standing a few rows of tables away, seemed to be glaring in their direction to chastize them about the noise, but even that could not dampen Harry's mood.

"Why aren't you going home for Christmas, Harry?" Hermione was asking him.

Oh. That. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, unconsciously feeling the split point where the frame had been mended with spellotape, and replied simply, "I don't like my relatives much, and they don't like me much either."

Hermione looked chastened. She was astonishingly naive at times, for a Slytherin. "Oh. I'm sorry." Shifting the pile of books in front of him and planting his crossed arms on the table, Harry braced himself for more the usual platitudes people usually offered him about growing up in a broken home, but her attention seemed to have been drawn to something else. "What are those for?"

Under his astronomy books were several thick tomes with titles such as _The Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures _and _Biters for Beginners _which he had unwittingly exposed to her when he moved the stack. And she would know he was lying if he said he was reading books heavier than a Malfoy's ego for fun. He bit his lip.

"Do we trust her enough to tell her, mate?" Ron asked, unsubtly nodding in Hermione's direction. "Aw, hell, I trust her." The redhead launched on the lengthy story of how Malfoy - he had to be careful not to speak of Malfoy too badly since he was Hermione's friend and all, so he stopped and restarted several times - had challenged Harry to a midnight duel. The narrative by punctuated by Hermione's periodic tuts at the recklessness of both themselves and Malfoy. Ron finished by describing, although fortunately only in sketchy detail, the three-headed dog the two of them had stumbled across and their quest for further information on the relationship between the beast and Nicolas Flamel.

"Actually, it'd be a right good project for you, if you could stand the rule-breaking and all," Ron finished. "You're great with research."

Hermione hmmmed thoughtfully. "You're right. Being around Slytherins has taught me it's okay to bend rules when there's a reason, I think. I can spend a little spare time checking some books for you."

"Just remember," Ron cautioned, "not a word of this to anybody. Especially not any other _Slytherins_." At that, he grimaced.

---

Draco had received a perfect mark on his astronomy exam. Hermione had shrieked a bit and smacked him when he explained with a grin that he'd been play-acting that morning in the Great Hall, but a bet was a bet, and magical wagers cannot be broken.

On Thursday morning, Hermione rolled out of bed early, careful not to wake her roommate Queenie Greengrass. Their bedroom was one of the deepest in the dungeons, below the level where even rats would tread. Or perhaps the rats were kept away by Queenie's pet owl, who followed the eccentric pureblood almost everywhere and liked to sit on her shoulder mumbling softly in class. Hermione put on her bathrobe and climbed up to the common room to find Draco already dressed and making faces at the squid through the large window that opened onto the lake.

"Want breakfast?" he offered, gesturing to an elaborate-looking platter on the table nearest the fire. "I got the elves to bring something up."

She gingerly took a croissant and nibbled at the end. "So, you still haven't explained how we're supposed to get out of the school, not to mention what we'll do if we're caught."

"Relax. You can get away with anything in this place as long as you use the right excuse. We'll find some Hufflepuff who's also off grounds and turn them in. Snape might even try to give us points for that."

She laughed despite herself. "Draco, that's awful."

"Well, it works." He smiled lopsidedly, one of the first genuine smiles she'd seen from him, and she thought it looked rather nice. He slid over next to her on the couch and started smearing jam on a scone. But his mask was back up and he had returned to his usual lazy drawl only a handful of seconds after that moment of openness. "Wear plain robes today, though. Nothing with Hogwarts insignia. We'll be posing as kids who are still too young for school, since no one our age has any reason to be on the streets of Britain."

Hermione frowned. She hadn't heard that before. "Why?"

Draco looked surprised. "Think about it. Everyone magic in the whole of Britain, save for the squibs, goes through Hogwarts. And no one's really supposed to leave until at least OWL-level."

"Hmmm." As always, Hermione looked thoroughly intrigued as she digested a new bit of information. "Everyone magic? So there are only about forty magical children born each year. That means there are perhaps a few thousand witches and wizards in Britain."

"Something like that, I think," he replied, polishing an apple on his robe and looking like he would be more interested in a conversation with a Jarvey than discussing this particular topic with her.

"How does magical society even sustain itself, then? That hardly seems like enough people to manage every industry you would need. You would have to buy food from muggles, for example. How would a muggle deliveryman react to having to give a load of goods to a house elf?" Hermione giggled.

Draco turned to face her, completely befuddled. "You must be the only person on earth who would even think about that." It was getting to be far enough into the morning that a handful of other Slytherins were wandering into the common room yawning and half-dressed. Hermione's roommate was among them. Glancing around at the group, Draco added in an undertone, "We can go now."

Hermione got up and led the way through the twisty passages of the labyrinthine dungeon staircase, rooms branching off from the stairs at odd locations along its length, while Draco followed behind her. They entered the small room all the way at the bottom of the stairs, and Draco sat down on one of the beds while Hermione shuffled through her trunk. He noticed that one of the beds had already been made and the other left a jumble for the elves to tend to; he could guess which bed belonged with which occupant.

With a plain black robe in hand, Hermione emerged from the trunk. "Robe without house insignia, from before the sorting. Is this good enough?"

Draco nodded, but an uncomfortable feeling was starting to grab at his stomach. He had almost made a crack about Hermione's wardrobe not being up to Malfoy standards, and it served as a painful reminder that this innocent, unsuspecting, downright Hufflepuff-like girl who stupidly enough seemed to like him would soon get to see Malfoy standards for herself. Draco was normally one to have a sharp tongue and a few well-chosen hexes ready to throw at anyone he didn't like, but his father's games of intrigue were more unpredictable. And more frightening.

_Just got to play the bloody game a little longer. Just hang in a few hours more and you'll have Father off your back._ Draco rubbed his eyes. He hated play-acting. While Hermione was in the bathroom getting dressed, he attempted to calm himself by picking up and skimming through one of the books on the floor next to the bed.

When Hermione emerged from the bathroom struggling to tie her unruly hair back into a ponytail, she found Draco deeply engaged in a paperback he'd picked up from the side of her bed. "Nineteen eighty-four," she remarked, making him jump at the sound of her voice. "Ever read it? It's a muggle book, so I don't know if you would have encountered it before."

"This is very weird," he muttered, flipping another page. "Muggles can grow babies in _jars_?"

She tried her hardest not to laugh. "No, not yet. It's fiction, Draco. My dad sends me muggle books sometimes because he knows how much I miss the things we used to read in school. And he's certainly thrilled that I haven't given up the more mundane aspects of my education entirely."

Draco had lowered the paperback and was examining the bedspread. "Your dad does that?"

"He sends them as often as he can, yes." She noticed he still hadn't made eye contact with her and was starting to look markedly saddened, so she leaned over and squeezed his hand. "Ready to go?"

Draco nodded mutely, grabbed his scarf and hat, and led the way out of the room.

---

A light January snow was descending on the grounds of Hogwarts, mild by Scottish standards, but worsened by a fairly strong wind that was beginning to blow in from the northwest.

Hermione and Draco left footprints in the snowfall where they emerged from the castle behind the kitchens. They circled all the way around the other wall until the quidditch pitch had come into view, inciting Hermione to hiss, "Where _are _we going?" and Draco to reply only with "You'll see."

They approached the broom shed, and Draco undid the chain and gestured Hermione on in front of him. She stepped into a large, pleasantly warm expanse that was much larger than an observer might have guessed from the outside. "Are you going to steal a broom or something?" she interjected, fixing an accusing gaze on her companion.

"Oh, keep your pants on," he sighed, striding past the rows of students' brooms stored upright in the racks upon the walls. Reaching the end of the shed, he pressed his hand flat along the wall and felt along until he reached a gap in the boards. "Here. Look." Draco dug his wand out of his robes and rapped on the slat, and to Hermione's astonishment the surrounding boards slid apart to reveal another compartment containing a single broom, a sleeker model than most of the other brooms in the shed.

"The inside of the shed was already expanded, so who would notice if another charm was put on it to create more space?" he remarked with a malevolently triumphant grin when he noticed Hermione standing with her mouth open. "Wasn't too difficult to do with our family house elf's

help." He hoisted the broom over his shoulder and headed back out of the shed, Hermione staring after him for a moment before she remembered to follow.

"I thought first-years weren't allowed to have brooms," she muttered when she got outside, where Draco was already mounting the broom which was elegantly labeled Comet 990 on the grip.

"Rules only apply when you get caught," he drawled slyly. "Coming?"

She pulled her scarf tighter around her face to protect herself from the wind, then climbed on the broom behind him and held onto his waist. "But nothing fancy, right? I might throw up on you if you go upside down too often."

"Deal." He pushed off from the ground and started circling around to the east of the castle and, further off, Aberdeen. Wind was whipping around them violently now, but Draco did an admirable job of keeping the broom under control. The dungeons were coming into sight now, and the odd crystal waterfall that descended into them from the direction of the lake, and the whomping willow and the forbidden forest beyond them.

They were easing into a gentle turn away from the castle when it happened: a loud crack sounded as a strong gust of wind split a branch off the whomping willow, the flailing tree limb came flying towards them, and Draco yelped as it smashed right into him. Hermione managed to grab onto the tail end of the broom to keep her balance, but Draco slipped over one side and fell to the ground, clutching his ankle and rolling down a steep incline. Hermione gasped and steered the broom down to the ground, dismounting in one hop and running back towards the spot where her friend had fallen. "Draco? Draco! Are you all right?"

She neared the edge of the slippery incline down which he'd fallen, her heart sinking when she got close enough to see all the way to the bottom. She couldn't see the blond boy anywhere. Carefully, she edged her way down the incline step by step, trying to figure out where he might be. It became obviously when she finally reached the bottom of the slope - there was a small aperture behind the bizarre crystalline sculpture, just wide enough for a person to fit through. She grimaced, wondering what sort of magic might be on any fixture at Hogwarts and whether Draco would be all right and able to get out of it.

There was no way around it, though. Her friend was injured and she needed to find him. Mustering all her courage, she again tightened the wrapping of her cloak around herself, then with a shriek went sliding down into the crystal waterfall.


	4. Chapter 4

Phew.Well, trying to finish this chapter was about as hard as trying to give birth. Writing complicated plot is hard. In my case, it often involves hours of staring at a blank screen and twiddling my thumbs while I try to figure out what to do.

duj: In general, I would agree with you about Riley being the sole arbiter of which fics our favorite green feathered beast ought to be able to play in, but this situation is sort of exceptional because as far as I know, Riley has totally left the fandom, and I'm not sure how to contact her. If I'm wrong, though, do let me know. :)

To everyone else: Thank you for the lovely reviews, without which I'm sure I never would have been able to get this chapter done. I'm flattered and pleased that you're enjoying the story!

Notes for ch. 4:  
1. Anyone who used to play DOS games back in the eighties and early nineties and remembers a certain "maze of twisty little passages" should catch my nod to Colossal Cave in this chapter. ;)  
2. The PoA scene where Hermione smacks Draco was too good to leave out of this story entirely. Chortle.

* * *

Draco was still carefully cradling the injured arm, but he was largely ignoring it as he gazed in wonder around him. Hermione hit the ground a few feet away from him with a muttered "oof," but as soon as she saw where she was, she too was rendered speechless as she looked around herself.

They were in a cavern with a ceiling that must have been thirty or forty feet high, arching down on all sides around them. What made it most spectacular, though, were the crystal formations that flowed down the walls like water, reflecting light prism-like in a thousand directions. But the chamber was too round, its formations almost too perfect, to have been made by nature's hands.

Hermione's reverie ended when she turned around and abruptly noticed that there was no way to climb back up the incline that had led her down. _In fact... _she looked all around the upper walls and ceiling. The entrance wasn't even visible now at all? "But - wha-" When logic failed her, her first instinct was to panic.

"It's probably magic," Draco said. "What did you expect?"

"Something that at least made some sense! I mean - when I go in somewhere - I should at least be able to get out the same way!"

"The _staircases _in this school also move. Does that make sense?"

"Well... no, but - " Hermione started sputtering on about everything she knew that might be of at least minor relevance, like spells for making crystals grow, the way other magical caves she knew of had been enchanted, and that water was the element associated with Ravenclaw. Draco let her drone on until her voice became background noise.

He sighed to himself. If he told her the truth about why he'd done this, he lost a friend. If he didn't tell her the truth until they managed to get out and his father found them, he still lost a friend. It seemed that the fate of a Malfoy was to be forever followed by brainless minions attracted by the name, the prestige, and the money. Never by one with interests so nonmaterial as hers.

To live a life unplagued by sycophants and carefully dressed, pre-planned destinies that had been designed for him before he'd even been born - these simple things that so many others could take for granted were denied to him. It made him wonder about the point of it all.

He sighed to himself again. _Woe is me._ "Hermione, I have something to say."

* * *

Hermione smacked Malfoy across the face as hard as she could. Her entire body radiated fury, from the set of her posture to the tips of her hair. Who would have known how quickly she could morph into raging predator when defied? Of course, no one at Hogwarts had seen one of her rages before. At home, in the muggle world, it had been well known to her childhood friends and younger neighbors how quickly one bossy girl became punitive when disobeyed. 

"How could you?" she fumed. "After all this while of pretending to be on my side, you do this, you bastard."

Draco, like the male lead of Macbeth, had courage that was inversely proportional to that of the woman involved. The more enraged she became, the more he shrank away from her, looking more like a quivering puppy than the self-assured prince of Slytherin. "I'm _sorry_. When Father wants something, I have no choice!"

"Some defense," Hermione scowled, crossing her arms and feeling deeply proud that one side of his face was now markedly reddened to match his injured arm. "Snape was right. You're a pathetic, useless - "

"Hermione, _listen_. You don't understand how things are in this world; you always assume it's just like your muggle life was. Maybe your father actually cares about you. Mine _doesn't_." He made a sour face and seemed to be settling down to start feeling sorry for himself.

She turned away from him, arms still crossed, and starting pacing. The very last thing she wanted to do was forgive him, but they needed to get out first. And then after that was done she could go back to hating him.

Making up her mind, she pulled off her scarf and tossed it back over her shoulder. "Why don't you try and get that arm wrapped up or something. _I'm_ going to see if I can do something useful and figure out how we can get out of here." Donning her most supercilious face, Hermione stomped off, trying not to acknowledge to herself that what she was doing was closer to angry stalking than actual reconnaissance. Her mind was certainly far too distracted to be paying much attention to the terrain.

Not for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, she wondered what in blazes she was doing in this world. The magical world, in its meager attempts to meander its way forward with the progress of time, seemed to have gotten stuck in the Victorian era or so. They still had a hereditary class system, ignored their women, and passed laws that served no purpose other than segregation and preservation of tradition. And forget about asking if there was an actual democratic government. What was she doing, living in this world? Was she hoping to singlehandedly persuade it to adopt the values of 20th century muggles? If she wanted the rights and respect she deserved, hoped to never be called 'Mudblood' again, and never wanted to have to rely on someone like Draco Malfoy because he had seemed to be the only one who didn't hate her, the obvious solution was to just go back to what she'd left behind.

And yet it wasn't so obvious. There was so much she would leave behind here too. She wasn't sure if she could ever live as a muggle again now that she'd seen what amazing possibilities magic opened up for herh.

It was just a matter of changing the entire bloody system of the magical world, that was all.

She sighed and put her hands on her hips, glancing up and around herself. She was still obviously under the strange crystal formation, since the sparse ambient sunlight was filtering through the roof and walls to give a dull blue-gray cast to the rocks around her. On the plus side, at least it wasn't pitch dark. On the minus side, it was possible they were all the way under the lake at the moment.

_Wait._ She'd been here before. She must have somehow been walking around in circles in the underground cave; it was easy enough to get disoriented wending one's way through the twisty little passages of the cavern. Walking in circles definitely wasn't a good idea. In fact, she mused, maybe she could mentally plot out the passages and she might find an exit neatly located on the other side of the lake. Then it would just be a matter of coming back to drag that filthy Malfoy out, and once he was safely in the infirmary she would never have to speak to him again.

She was certain the last passage she had emerged from was the one to her left, so she chose a different passage, a steep climb in the southeast, and started scrambling up to see what lay ahead. Going up was definitely desirable; she might break through to the surface. It quickly became clear she hadn't found an exit, though, when the passage ahead of her took a downturn again. After another half dozen meters, the passage opened up again, and Hermione at last clambered out huffing and puffing. The new chamber she'd reached was also lit with blue-gray ambience from above.

In fact... it was exactly like the previous chamber.

Hermione was not generally in the habit of swearing, but this time she muttered under her breath, "Oh, _bugger_."

* * *

The final staff meeting of the term convened in the morning as the students were trudging down to the train station, heading home for Christmas. 

"Severus, I noticed on my way here," remarked Minerva McGonagall, her tone light but laced with a playful competitiveness as she settled into her chair, "the points hourglasses are looking rather imbalanced. If I didn't know better, I would think Gryffindor's is more filled than Slytherin's for once."

"Indeed," he mused, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "Your efforts at sabotaging my students' work have been of unusually passable quality lately."

Both tiny Professor Flitwick and elaborately-garbed Professor Vector, who was wearing a colorful headdress typical of her native Cote d'Ivoire, seemed to be trying to prevent themselves from laughing. McGonagall scowled across the room at Snape but didn't bother to retort, turning to the chair on her other side inside. "May we keep this brief, Dumbledore? _Some_ of us have family to be with on the holidays."

He attempted to keep his tone of voice neutral, but his eyes were atwinkle anyway. "Of course, Minerva, and my apologies for calling you all here when you should have been on holiday. There are just a few --"

The door to the staff room banged open to admit a somewhat winded Hagrid. Dumbledore had started to push himself to his feet, but Hagrid interrupted with his announcement before anything else could be said. "Beggin' yer pardon, Professors, but I was seein' the firs' years off on the train, an'... well, there's two missin'."

* * *

He awoke blinking. It was difficult to tell while underground, but Draco imagined it had been the better part of a day. The crystalline growths arching across the ceiling didn't permit a view of the outside world, but they did admit a nauseating sort of gray light for the dishearteningly few hours each day the sun was up in the winter. He'd watched day fade into night yesterday, becoming very unpleasantly hungry and thirsty in addition to his having to cope with the ache of his arm, and settled down to sleep with his cloak used as a blanket. Light was emanating from the roof again, suggesting it was already the next morning. The train would have left already, and his absence definitely would have been noticed. What he found himself thinking of the most, though, was that his father would absolutely kill him for failing this. Now both Father and the mudblood were mad at him. 

It was easiest for him to think of her as the mudblood at the moment. It helped him pretend he didn't care what she thought of him.

Hermione was standing over him, looking not so much infuriated as terrified. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and attempted to assume his usual facial expression, only partially successfully. "Wasn't sure you were ever coming back, Granger."

Her lips thinned. "_Malfoy_. We have a big problem."

The last bits of anything resembling confidence drained from Draco's face. "Another one?"

She nodded grimly. "It took me _hours _of random wandering just to get back here. There's no straightforward way to map the cave. This place - it wasn't made naturally. You were right, someone did it with magic." She frustratedly ran a hand back through her already-frazzled hair. "I don't know how it works, exactly, but if you try to move you end up back in the same place! Or another place that looks just like it. Or... something!" Hermione flopped down on the ground and made a loud noise of exasperation. "Look, Malfoy, I really don't want to be around you right now, but I don't know what else to do. I think we have to work together."

Draco carefully counted out a few seconds before responding. So she didn't hate him entirely enough to just desert him. _Something _was finally going his way, and he didn't want to mess it up by sounding too interested. "So it's a truce, then?" he finally drawled.

Hermione looked pained at being forced to acknowledge that fact a second time. "Yes. I guess it is."

"All right." They shook hands on it, then got to their feet. "You know, Granger, when places look too much alike, sometimes you've got to drop something to make them more different." He gathered up his cloak and other appurtenances carefully. "We've got enough stuff, I think."

"You mean... oh!" Hermione's eyes widened with comprehension, and then she felt herself starting to blush. "That's a good idea. I guess I was just too nervous to think about that."

"Instead you panicked and just ran back and forth." Draco started to smirk, but when he noticed her glowering at him, he begrudgingly forced himself to keep a straight face and stick to his most neutral drawl. "Right. Ready to try?"

They started back into the maze of the cavern.

* * *

An anxious afternoon passed in which the school and grounds were all searched twice. Dumbledore even had Filch go down to the sculpture garden and make sure no one was being held captive by the old Druid Dumuzi, who still liked to fancy himself a warrior now and then. Though there was nothing Harry and Ron could do, Ron seemed somewhat preoccupied with worry for Hermione during the several games of chess they played. Harry suspected, however, that he wouldn't have minded if Malfoy fell into a hole and never came back. 

Dinner was especially good that night. It seemed the elves felt themselves underworked having to cook for so few people for a change, so they'd put in a great deal of extra effort preparing gourmet meals that could have rivaled those at the start of term feast. The effect was clearly lost on much of the teaching staff.

"Notify the parents, Dumbledore," Minerva was saying, her face looking lined and weary. "We can't do any more tonight."

Flitwick, who had spent most of the day skillfully negotiated the difference between Albus's optimism that the children might be found quickly enough to be sent home without any additional fuss and Minerva's words of caution, surprisingly chimed in to support her. "The train will almost have arrived by now, you know. Better they find out from us than that way."

Although it was clear that Dumbledore didn't like the prospect, especially since he as headmaster would most likely receive the brunt of the parents' anger, Severus knew he was about to give in. He impaled a piece of steak and put an expression of boredom on his face as he waited for the words to come.

"Very well. I will go to the Grangers," a defeated-looking Albus sighed. Snape let out a small, victorious smile. "Severus. You're their head of house. Go to the Malfoys."

The latter part had been unexpected. Severus was unable to stop himself from sputtering in outrage before he forced himself under control, not wanting to reveal overly much given who else was at the table. He settled for gritting his teeth and fuming.

"What is it, Severus," Dumbledore muttered in his direction in a stern undertone, no doubt having expected this reaction.

_What is it._ There were times when he wanted to choke Dumbledore. He was sending away the only two people in that room who had brains, if the headmaster did indeed possess a brain. "I do _not _think it is wise for both of us to leave grounds while _he _is here," Severus hissed through his teeth.

"And _I_ do not think there is reason to suspect any person on these grounds. Is that clear?" the older man replied, sounding increasingly angry. Severus twitched in his seat, forcing himself not to reach for his wand and hex the damned old bat, and maintained an enraged silence.

"Are there any other objections?" Dumbledore inquired in a more regulated tone, this time to the entire table, and was met by silence. "Very good."

* * *

As several members of the faculty got up from their table to leave, Harry felt a hard elbow jab into his ribs. "Did you hear that?" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore's gone. Whatever that dog's guarding, whoever's going to steal it is going to do it tonight."

* * *

This was supposed to have been his holiday, but he found himself yet again engaged in a routine he thought he'd long ago left behind: slipping out to the apparation point behind Hogwarts for a conference with the elder Malfoy at his estate. With the fall of the Dark Lord, the surviving Death Eaters had become far more circumspect as to their activities, and most had broken off social ties with one another. It was simply too risky to chance exposing their connections. Although Severus suspected Lucius Malfoy was still in the habit of keeping a few muggle women chained up in the basement of his estate for satiating his carnal tastes, both of body and of bloodlust, the conniving scion of wizardom's most pompous family line had of course refashioned his public face along with the rest of the old crowd. He was quite the upstanding citizen these days. He only carried out his vendettas against those of lower blood in private now. 

This would in theory be a straightforward visit; Severus would inform him of the situation with his son, offer his insincere condolences and fallacious assurances that it would be resolved soon, and get the hell out. He had far too much past experience with Lucius, though, to believe so naively that anything would be straightforward. Lucius was the slimiest species of Slytherin. He couldn't move one finger without being suspect. If nothing else, Snape mused, it would be interesting to attempt to figure out which pies Malfoy had his fingers in these days. And he had to admit it was sometimes rather nice to be in the company of someone who actually _appreciated_ his off-color and vicious humor. Minerva never liked Severus's dead baby jokes.

Severus reached the bottom of the hill, cloak billowing behind him in the melodramatic manner only a swishing charm could bestow, and disapparated immediately after crossing the edge of the wards.

Some had joined the Dark Lord out of fear and some had joined because they expected he would ultimately emerge victorious and they wanted to reserve themselves a slice of the power, but Lucius, without a doubt, had joined because he got his jollies out of tormenting anyone he could construe as lesser than himself. And Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, Lucius was probably still being Lucius.

It was with the most delicate of pops that he appeared outside Malfoy Manor. Although it was still only early evening, the house's occupants were clearly already home, since multiple lights were ablaze and visible through the windows. _Naturally_, Severus mused. _Whatever is it that Lucius does which he considers work? Bribing ministry bureaucrats? _He let his mind wander to the most pleasant fantasy of being wealthy enough to not have to teach the Longbottoms of this damned world and witness his lab being blown up several times weekly.

A house elf came to greet him at the door, and Severus donned his most bored and condescending expression. "Ah, Master has been expecting you, sir!" the elf chirped, chivvying him inside and directing him towards the sitting room.

The blond man was seated in a tall-backed leather chair gazing into the crackling hearth in front of him while taking a slow drag on a pipe. "Good evening, Severus," he murmured in a low, hypnotic sort of tone. "I take it my son has somehow managed to bungle things up again, so Dumbledore thought it fitting to send you to offer platitudes?"

"You've noticed that your son hasn't made it home. Such astute parenting."

Lucius snorted a low laugh. "You haven't changed. Take a seat." Severus swept over to the other chair by the fire without further urging. "Brandy?" He nodded curtly, then accepted the proffered glass. Silence reigned for a few moments.

It was Lucius who finally spoke again. "So tell me, what has my son done this time?"

Severus studied the brandy dispassionately. "He and Miss Granger have managed to disappear."

Lucius liked to think himself terribly clever, but his expression became oddly closed for a small fraction of a second after hearing this detail. Severus silently drummed five thin, bony fingers against his glass and suppressed the urge to grit his teeth some more. _Naturally. So this bastard was the one who'd dragged Hermione into it. _"I don't suppose you know something about their whereabouts?"

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were here to keep _me _apprised. On that note, what do you think it indicates, a Mudblood being sorted into Slytherin? Some are calling it a sign of some sort, and others, a call to action."

Severus sighed to himself. So much for the visit being a pleasant social call. Of course, it was folly to expect less from a Slytherin.

* * *

The note that had come wrapped with his best Christmas present had told him to use it well, and the first use it would be put to was indeed a worthy one. Huddled under the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron slipped out of the Gryffindor dormitory at a quarter of eight, being careful to stay in lock-step to keep the cloak as securely over the both of them as possible. 

It was a chill winter night, and the corridors of the castle were so cold they could see their breath clouding in front of them as they made their way to the third floor. They couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves by lighting a wand, so they were forced to navigate by the tiny spills of moonlight that trickled through the windows. In the darkness, every statue's shadow loomed over them like some horrible beast. It hardly seemed a good omen for what was to come.

"We're going to set up camp under the cloak," Harry whispered, "take turns sitting awake in front of the door to keep watch... unless - "

They rounded the final corner approaching the door they'd gone through the last time they'd encountered the three-headed dog. Unlike the last time they'd seen it, however, the door was ajar, its lock broken open by a hex. Ron swore under his breath.

"... unless someone's already been here," Harry finished lamely. His stomach fluttered with sudden fear. For the first time, he truly appreciated what a crazy thing they were doing in going to face an adult wizard, and most likely a dangerous one. One part of him wanted to run straight to Professor McGonagall and get her to fix things for them, but another, stronger part of him knew there was no time now.

"Last chance to go back, mate." Ron looked paler than usual, but he was steeling himself for what lay ahead, which he clearly did intend to face.

"No way," Harry breathed. They approached the open door at a steady pace, and, under the cloak, aligned themselves shoulder-to-shoulder so they could squeeze through the gap in the door without having to risk moving it. When they got through, they found they needn't have bothered to be so circumspect, since the enormous dog was in a deep sleep, one of its heads snoring loudly and another drooling on its paws while dreaming.

"One obstacle down." Harry cautiously pushed the dog's paw off the trapdoor it was covering and peered down into the shaft below. "We have to go down together if we want to keep the cloak on. Ready?"

Ron nodded grimly, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and they pushed off the side of the trapdoor...

... and fell straight down four or five meters onto a hard dirt floor. Harry groaned, but he seemed to be unhurt, so he gingerly pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off. A stream of muffled curses was coming from his right. "You okay, Ron?"

"I think so," the redhead replied with a grimace, "but I don't know what in the bloody hell the person that designed this thing was playing at. That's their protection for the Stone, they're hoping anyone who tries to take it'll fall down and break his neck?"

There was a small plant sprouting from the dirty walls of the chamber, its stumpy snakelike tendrils writhing frantically as they struggled in vain to catch the boys. "I don't think so. We just got here too early, that's all. If that plant'd had time to grow some more, it would have been the trap."

Ron shot a nervous glance at the moving plant, its tiny arms still flailing in his direction. "Creepy."

The boys grew silent again and rearranged the invisibility cloak around themselves as they approached the single sloping passageway leading out of the dirt-walled chamber. It was impossible to know who might be waiting for them or where. The passage seemed to be deserted, though, as it wended its way down further and darker with each step. Harry idly wondered if they might keep walking down and down under the earth forever. That fear was allayed when they found themselves entering a glowing chamber. This chamber presented a challenge as well, but it was a magnificent one for Hogwarts' youngest seeker. Ron kept the cloak on and ran to the door leading to the next room while Harry, on broomstick, managed to snatch the appropriate key out of the air.

"Wicked!" Ron remarked with a laugh when they got into the room beyond, slamming the door behind them and pulling the cloak off again when they got a glance of what lay ahead. For the first time since entering this bizarre labyrinth, he almost didn't sound nervous. "It's almost like someone made this course just for us; that Quidditch challenge for you and a chess match for me."

Harry studied the life-sized chess board silently. "Doesn't that almost make you worry, in a way?" he asked in an undertone.

"Like a trap?" Ron answered, his face falling and his voice now also in a hush. "Yeah, I guess that's a point." He furrowed his brow seriously, the way he always did when thinking hard. "Would it matter, though? We can't go back now. We do that, and the Stone's gone."

Harry knew he was right, although he still wasn't thrilled with the situation. Maybe he really did have to go ahead, though. Everyone was always saying he'd never done anything to deserve his reputation, Malfoy and Snape and all of them, and maybe for once he'd have a chance to change that. Maybe he could really do this. He and Ron would be heroes.

It was with that hopeful mantra repeating in his mind that he stepped onto the chessboard, taking the place of a rook while Ron took the queen side bishop's square, calling out orders to the chess pieces, his eyes having to flick all around the board to figure out what to do next - it was no easy task playing chess when you were at the eye level of the pieces.

The game went on for what seemed like hours, Harry's knees and sometimes every inch of his body trembling each time he watched a chessman smashed to dust on the board in front of him. He felt some small consolation when he wondered if the fact that the entire chess set was intact when they'd gotten there meant no one else had been here yet, but when he noticed that the broken pieces on the side of the board were reassembling themselves, that hope was smashed just as hard as if bludgeoned with the opposing queen's stone arm.

It only ended when Ron sacrificed their remaining knight so he could checkmate the king. The king threw his crown at Ron's feet and the remaining pieces on the board parted to let him and Harry across, but Ron looked very shaken. When Harry ran up to him, Ron whispered, "If we hadn't had that last piece left to sacrifice, it would have been one of us..."

They put the cloak back on and opened the next door by the smallest crack that would permit them to squeeze through. Their surreptitiousness had once again been unnecessary, though. The next room was also deserted, although this time the challenge facing them definitely did not make Ron laugh.

The two of them stared at the array of potions lined up on the table in front of them, fire raging both in front of and behind them. They looked from the accompanying riddle to the bottles and back again in silence for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them either wanting or needing to admit to the other that they had no clue what to do.

* * *

Quirrell was pacing jerkily in front of what otherwise could have been an entirely ordinary looking glass. "I don't understand! What sort of test is this?" 

An angry hiss of a voice answered him. "Unwrap me, you fool, if you are incapable of doing this yourself."

Despite a part of him that would rather have done anything else, Quirrell immediately acknowledged his master and acquiesced, his internal conflict betrayed only by a small whimper he couldn't entirely repress.

"Useless coward," Voldemort snarled as the host body he lived off of as a parasite turned itself around so he could look into the mirror. Before him spread a vision of himself, in his own body, intact just as it had been when he'd first begun to delve into the dark arts. The young man almost would have been handsome were it not for the venomous glare of his eyes. The Dark Lord's image clutched the Sorceror's Stone, the source of his power and eternal life, and he saw now that his old followers were beginning to appear around him again. Larger and larger the numbers grew until he was surrounded by an entire army.

"It shows me what I _want _to see. If only you were so accommodating, yes, Quirrell?" Voldemort let out a high laugh. "The looking glass does no magic. It only creates illusions. If the Stone is here, this trinket cannot hide it for long..."

The Dark Lord made a face into the mirror, trying to force it to misread his will, to mistake his desires. As he became increasingly angry, though, all that happened was his reflection became more and more gleeful. Mirror Voldemort had Dumbledore now, tormenting him with round after round of Crucio with each jab and twist of his wand. "This is just the sort of trickery the old man would create. He would think it profound... but it is shallow and meaningless." Voldemort snarled. "I don't suppose you have any ideas, Quirrell?"

His host whimpered. "I shall work on it, master!"

"Work faster," the Dark Lord hissed sibilantly. "Now walk me around the back of the mirror; I wish to see it more closely."

* * *

"This is bloody awful," she muttered. 

Draco glanced sideways at Hermione. "Never known you to swear."

She turned back in the direction from whence they'd come and used her wand to mark the passage with a flaming X. "I suppose I've been doing it a lot today. Special situation." In truth, though, she was only half-thinking about their current predicament, the other half of her mind still preoccupied with how the wizarding world had ended up the way it was. Draco's words to her earlier echoed in her head. _You don't understand how things are in this world. _It shouldn't have had to be so complicated. She shouldn't have had to choose between being a witch and living in an equitable world. Here, everyone looked down on her for being an outsider, and maybe they were justified.

The thought made her even more miserable, and for the first time, she really began to doubt if she was anything at all. _Just a Mudblood_.

Draco had gotten a handful of steps ahead of her while she was lost in thought, and she trotted to catch up with him, the already-sore balls of her feet bemoaning the beating they were taking. "Malfoy," she panted, grabbing his upper arm when she got to him. "You suppose we could take a break soon?"

"Why not," he drawled. "The hunger's killing me, anyway."

"I'm not even awfully hungry. It's thirst I can't stand," she sighed as she sank down to a sitting position. Draco made no answer. He seemed to be preoccupied with unwrapping his arm to check the swelling. From what she could see, the wrist was bruised and somewhat swollen, but it didn't look like too bad a break. Maybe it was even just a sprain. Judging from Draco's countenance, though, it may as well have been castration. No one could accuse him of being stoic in the face of pain.

Attempting to keep her tone neutral, she abruptly inquired, "So. Do you feel the same way about me your father does? Just a worthless Mudblood?"

His face abruptly became inscrutable, which was an impressive accomplishment for him, since he was in the midst of rewrapping his arm and Hermione suspected he wasn't normally capable of being that phlegmatic about even a hangnail. Without looking at her, he answered, "I might've thought that at first. You surprised me, though. Never met a Mudblood before, and you aren't like what I expected."

Hermione, too, kept a stone face. She wasn't entirely sure what Professor Snape would advise her to do, but maybe it was all right to ad lib. "Does that mean I'm a friend?"

"Well. It means thanks for coming down here after me."

One corner of her lip quirked upwards. That was probably the best that could be expected from him, and for now, she'd take it. Perhaps she had a Malfoy on her side after all.

* * *

They once again stood before the mirror, still staring into it in silence. 

"Quirrell." The Dark Lord's voice was soft. "Break the mirror."

"What?" Quirrell sounded panicked. "Bu- but if you are wrong, master, we - you - might never get it."

"_Break the mirror._"

Trembling, Quirrell fumbled in his robes, withdrew his wand, and pointed it at the mirror. The Mirror of Erised shattered, and a moment later, an explosion of bright light flooded the room.

* * *

"And how is my cousin?" Severus inquired idly, stirring his tea with a gingerbread man with the legs bitten off and looking rather disinterested despite the fact that he had charmed the confection to scream small, high-pitched shrieks of pain. 

Lucius was still taking swigs from the bottle of brandy. There were some things that never changed, and Lucius having the tolerance for alcohol of a thousand-pound hippogriff was apparently one of them. "Ah, I'm sorry Narcissa couldn't be here to see you. She's visiting with a family friend in Italy--"

The next thing he knew, his left arm had exploded with pain. He dimly registered that he may have been screaming, and Lucius seemed to be as well. The teacup had shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor, and sharp fragments seemed to rebound off the carpet in slow motion. He knew no time. All he knew was the pain radiating from the Dark Mark.

* * *

Harry was slumped down against the cold stone of the wall, dark flames lapping up to the ceiling on both his left and his right where the entrance and exit to the chamber should have been. Ron continued to circle around the table of phials, reading the parchment with his brow furrowed. 

"So if the small one is nettle wine, then the one on its right is poison and - no, I think the small one has to be to go back - unless of course _this _one over here is the one to go back, so then the small one can't be wine either - though maybe I should just give 'em all a whiff, don't you suppose poison would smell poisonous? Nettle wine smells awful too, though, I remember once Fred and George..."

A sound like an explosion resonated through the stone of the chamber, so loud it seemed to have come from right beyond the next door. Harry lept to his feet and grabbed his wand, but the wall of fire separating them from the next chamber stood firm. The nausea he had abruptly begun to feel was mirrored in Ron's face.

"Bloody hell... what if we're too - "

* * *

Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - stepped over Quirrell's crumpled body, savoring the feel of his fingers wrapped about the Sorcerer's Stone, stretching his young body with relish. It was such a beautiful thing to be alive again! 

He prodded Quirrell with his foot to see if he was dead or merely unconscious. Dead, it looked like. Disdainfully rolling Quirrell's corpse over onto its back, Voldemort found his former host's wand clutched between his still-warm fingers. It would not be as good as his own wand, but for now, it would suffice. He pulled the wand out of Quirrell's hand and once again delighted in the feel of an object against his fingers. They were immortal fingers, now. He caressed the Stone in his other palm lovingly.

As tempting as it was to wait for Dumbledore to return so he could kill him on the spot, Tom knew that wasn't an adequate plan. Dumbledore was almost never found alone, and besides, he would need his own wand back in order to stand a chance in single combat. Time to summon his followers, then.

Young Voldemort pointed Quirrell's wand at a wall of the chamber. "_Reducto_."

The entire section of wall exploded magnificently, leaving a smoldering hole connecting the interior of Hogwarts to the winter night outside. Voldemort smiled toothily. It was nice to know that even with a strange wand, he was _still _a preposterously gifted wizard. He conjured a slide leading from the hole down to the ground below, then calmly walked to the threshold and swung his legs around to the outside of the wall.

"See you soon, Dumbledore," he whispered to the building, then slid down to the ground in a billow of robes and started jogging out to the apparition point to meet with his _adoring_ followers.

* * *

Draco's head popped up through a hole in the ground on the far side of the lake, shortly followed by the rest of his body as he flailed and pushed himself out with one arm. Once on the familiar soil of Hogwarts grounds, he flopped onto his back, breathing heavily and paying no mind to the winter iciness of the turf beneath him. 

Hermione emerged a few moments after, panting just as hard and having to look at the school for a long glance to believe it was true. "We did it. I almost don't believe it." She couldn't wait to find Professor Snape and tell him how right he had been. Clearly, she needed more practice before she could call herself a true Slytherin.

Draco rolled onto his side and remarked dryly, "Happy Christmas. Want to stop at the kitchens before heading to the infirmary? I'm _still_ starving."

* * *

**End of part I.**

In the next chapter, let the shipping - and the war - begin in earnest. (evil grin.)


	5. Chapter 5

Notes:  
1. Look what the cat dragged in - it's another chapter at last! My apologies for the long wait.  
2. The phrase "gayer than a tree full of nifflers" is from the Harry Potter roleplaying game nocturne alley. :D

* * *

Cold rain drummed out a staccato beat on the stone ledge of the castle window from whence he gazed. Young couples escaped from the dance used the cover of rosebushes in the garden for romantic liaisons, and for once, he found he didn't care. If Pomfrey hadn't been dispensing enough contraceptive potions lately, it was her problem.

He could see a carriage pulling up to the front gates, which in these days of war, hardly ever meant good news. The past five years of conflict had left the jaded man more bitter still. It was likely a messenger for Dumbledore reporting another death or another major loss.

What bliss it was to be young and ignorantly carefree and able to make out behind rosebushes in such times as these!

---

Hermione started when Harry came up from behind her, nearly spilling her drink on her dress. "Sorry," he remarked with a charmingly crooked grin, grasping her shoulder. It still startled her on occasion how deep her sixteen-year-old friend's voice had gotten. "You okay?"

"Fine, thank you," she smiled, brushing a loose tress out of her face. Her hair was arranged in elegant ringlets, and she wore a scarlet dress. It had been hard rousing herself to feel excited about the Valentine's Day dance, having grimly followed the news from one day to the next the way she did, but the headmaster had wanted the students to have something to lighten the mood of the dark days, and Hermione felt obliged to make an appearance for the sake of the younger students. Even if they didn't pay as much attention to current events as she did, they could sense the tension of the adults at the school. A constant state of fear had become the status quo at Hogwarts since Voldemort's rebirth and the genesis of his campaign of guerrilla warfare five years ago.

"Listen, uh, can I talk to you about something?" Harry asked, looking nervous.

"Of course, Harry." She let him lead her off the floor - gratefully, since she hadn't particularly wanted to dance anyway - and into the seats. The candlelight in the Great Hall dimmed as Celestina Warbeck began a slow song, making Hermione feel doubly lucky to have staged an escape. "You look nervous. What's the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing about me," Harry replied dismissively. "I mean, it is indirectly, but... oh, hell, there's no good way to say this. Hermione, what do you think of Ron?"

She frowned. "Ron? He's a good friend. Though he could certainly stand to develop some better study habits, maybe open a book now and then - "

"Er, no, that's not what I meant," Harry interrupted, looking uncomfortable. "I mean, what do you _think_ of him?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "What? No. He's a good friend, but - no. No, he's just a friend. And I couldn't imagine dating anyone right now anyway, there are just so many other things going on... Are you trying to set us up?"

"No," Harry sighed, now looking thoroughly miserable. "_I_ was the one who told him to forget about it because he was just risking messing up your friendship. He was the one who decided Valentine's Day was the perfect time to finally tell you he likes you."

"Ug." Hermione set her drink down on the table and starting massaging her temples. "No, I don't want to mess up my friendship with him. Can you try to stop him?"

"Already tried it, 'Mione. That's why I figured the only thing I could do now was warn you so you'd be prepared, and, well, try to let him down gently." He grabbed her arm and forced her to make eye contact with him. "Go easy on him, okay? He really likes you. Has for a long time."

She sighed. "How? I - goodness, this is bad." She pushed herself up from her chair. "Thanks for letting me know. I'm going to have to take a walk and - and think about this." Harry nodded glumly, and Hermione sidled her way among the tables to the door, still rubbing one temple.

She had barely made it out into the entrance hall when she noticed Draco Malfoy skulking around in the shadows of the columns nearest the doorway. Attempting to skulk, at least - she wondered if she should tell him it doesn't count as stealth when passers by who aren't even paying much attention notice. He could have taken a few lessons from their head of house. She stopped a few paces away from him and sighed. "Do I even want to know?"

"Hi, Granger," he replied drawlingly without looking at her. "Depends if you've got your prefect badge on tonight or not."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I might let it slide. What's going on?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Crabbe and Goyle decided they wanted to lighten the mood in there. I don't know exactly what they're doing, but figured it might be time to leave when I saw them sneaking in some stuff they nicked from the potions lab a few days ago. Probably want to make the punch blow up or something."

A few years back, she probably would have chided him, but at present she could bite back the urge and even laugh a bit at an appropriately-timed practical joke. "That's... ambitious of them," she remarked with a half-smile. Since Hermione could recall at least half a dozen times when Goyle had unintentionally stumbled into nearly creating an explosive brew in the potions lab and she'd had to help him (he wasn't overly good at reading the directions), it might not be that ambitious of them after all. "And your date doesn't mind you abandoning her?"

Draco turned to regard her with surprise. "Millicent? Are you kidding?" At the blank look on her face, he asked, "Do you seriously not know?"

Hermione frowned. "Know what?"

"About Millicent."

"What?"

"Granger! Millicent is gayer than a tree full of nifflers."

She gawked at him. "She... uh... _what?_"

The prince of Slytherin was doubled over in laughter, bracing himself against the column with one hand to keep from falling over. "How many more years was it going to take you to notice?" Hermione, feeling herself going pink, crossed her arms in feigned irritation, which only made him laugh harder. "I don't understand how you can be so smart with some things but so oblivious to other people. How long until your birthday? I'm getting you a copy of - what do they call those Muggle books? - _Psychology for Dummies_."

She punched him on the arm. "I'm getting you an empty box, Malfoy."

The muffled sound of an explosion emerged from the nearest entrance to the Great Hall, along with a few startled shrieks and Crabbe's distinctive guffaw of a laugh. He sauntered out soaked with sticky pink liquid and gave Draco the okay signal.

... which made him laugh all the harder.

---

He was still watching silently from the tower window when Lupin entered the cul-de-sac. The half-moon had just vanished behind gray clouds, and he pointedly let his gaze rest on it even after he became aware of the other man's approach. Severus heard his unwanted guest come to a stop behind him and pause respectfully, and without turning, he muttered, "Aren't you supposed to be on duty tonight, Lupin?"

"Hello, Severus," the werewolf replied as smoothly as if he were speaking with the world's most engaging conversationalist. "I was just wondering if you knew where Albus is."

The darker man turned his head fractionally. "Am I the headmaster's keeper? He is on the grounds somewhere; you have a limited region to search. Who was disemboweled by a Lestrange this time?"

"This is serious, I'm afraid," his companion answered quietly, his voice for the first time revealing some of the tension he was feeling.

Severus glanced at him with what could be recognized as concern by those experienced enough at decoding his facial expressions. "Go on."

Remus permitted his gaze to drift out the same window from which Severus's surveillance had been made. As the rain had intensified, the number of amorous adolescent couples making use of the greenery had decreased proportionally. "We were wrong. The Death Eaters weren't making a push for London at all. They unexpectedly appeared in large numbers outside Fudge's home and escaped with him alive."

Severus swore vociferously, then turned to glare out the window again. "You never mentioned this to us," Remus continued quietly. "I take it you heard nothing?"

He gritted his teeth, knowing the werewolf couldn't see his countenance. Perhaps that was Lupin's idea of being empathetic, but to Severus's mind, it could equally well have been an imputation of his disloyalty. He couldn't devote excessive attention to wondering about Lupin's assessment of him, though, when he had the far more pressing concern of contemplating the Dark Lord's assessment of him. Granted, the Dark Lord made a point of sharing only as much information with his subordinates as they needed to know... but it was still troubling that he'd heard nothing even remotely suggestive of a scheme this major. All signs had indicated a continued push into the capital. "No."

"If the Minister of Magic is at the mercy of Voldemort, we're in great danger."

"Bugger Fudge. I'd be half tempted to let him rot in the Dark Lord's dungeons if it weren't for the blow to Britain's morale," Severus sneered. "He cannot do us much damage. The operation was intended only as a scare tactic. It's meaningless."

"You know that isn't true, Severus," the werewolf countered quietly. "It doesn't matter that the minister wasn't current on all aspects of the Order. He knows enough, and you're fully aware he won't withstand Voldemort's torture."

Severus regarded the rain in silence. The truth in Lupin's assessment was clear enough, yet he continued to want so badly to believe that it hadn't been such a major plot he'd been excluded from that he would have been able to justify away the world's being round had it suited him at the moment. "Then perhaps it was a whim of the Dark Lord's. He saw an opportunity and chose to seize it. There was no time to notify all of us."

A piteous expression drifted over Remus's features. "As I said, I'd best find Albus now."

---

They strolled along the entrance hall. "Can I ask you something serious?"

Draco nodded.

"The Slytherins in our year - do you know - " Hermione couldn't even finish the question without feeling a knot of tension forming around her intestines, for its importance was personal in addition to political. He might not know the answer, or he might not want to or be able to tell her, but still a part of her suggested otherwise. She took a deep breath, letting the air rushing into her belly sweep away the anxiety, and tried again. "Have any of them joined Voldemort?"

One corner of his mouth quirked upward wryly. "You trust my loyalties enough to ask me that?"

"If there's anything I've learned in the past six years, it's not to trust any of you lot farther than I can throw you." She sighed. "No, seriously, Draco."

He hesitated, and his continued delay in answering induced the knot to return. "Hard to say. I know Crabbe and Goyle haven't - they owe you big, and the three of us got together and told our fathers some rubbish story about not wanting to raise suspicions. That ought to buy us some time." He fell silent again.

"And the rest?" Hermione prodded.

"Not sure they would tell me if they were, Granger. They can see what's happening. All I want to do is sit on the fence and be as uninvolved in this rot as possible - to survive. That's the Slytherin way." He winked. "But if they're real zealots, they're afraid of people like me, thinking I might sell 'em out."

"But do they realize they don't have to follow in the footsteps of their parents?" Hermione tried desperately. "I mean, look at you, you're proof of that. What you're born to shouldn't determine the kind of person you are! In the Muggle world, we believe in free will, we believe you can overcome your prejudices, and work your way up in life - "

Draco came to a halt and turned to face her. "This isn't the Muggle world, and you have to stop trying so hard to change it into that."

Hermione sighed again, this time so exasperated she pinched the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration. People were always telling her that - that her aspirations were too high and she couldn't change the wizarding world singlehandedly. First she'd tried knitting hats for House-Elves, and they had come to resent her for it; then she'd gone into a phase of having nightly debates with the pureblood girls trying to convince them they should have the same rights the men do, and that had ended equally badly. Maybe it was true - maybe she really did expect too much. If she couldn't even manage to keep the Slytherins in her year from joining Voldemort, then she'd even failed at the grand destiny the Sorting Hat had laid out for her on her first day at Hogwarts. So often these setbacks occurred and everything she hoped for began to seem so hopeless...

"But I have to try, you know," she informed him faintly.

She was not going to give up. If she could sway the outcome of this war even slightly by making sure Voldemort had one, or two, or even a handful fewer young followers than he'd expected...

"Ah! Hermione," a voice called down the lengths of the corridor. Ron Weasley had emerged from the Great Hall and started in the direction of the two of them, still in the shadows cast by the flickering sconces overhead.

Hermione, Draco noticed, had frozen with what looked like terror, a hippogriff-in-headlamps look in her eyes. The previous topic, it seemed, had been forgotten. "I need a favor," she hissed desperately.

He looked from her to the approaching Weasley to her again. "The hell is going on?"

Hermione grabbed the back of Draco's neck and kissed him violently. Thrusting her hips into him, she slammed his body up against the stone wall. She could feel his mouth smiling wolfishly beneath hers, and as he started to get into it, they exchanged one hard kiss after another. When Hermione peeked in Ron's direction, she saw him standing agape and then beginning to sidle away. She waited until she was sure he was out of sight before releasing Draco, and they both found themselves panting against their will.

So much for letting Ron down gently.

It was he who finally broke the silence. "I should have known you'd give in to the Malfoy charms eventually, Granger," he remarked with eyebrows haughtily raised. "Of course, no woman can resist me..."

She rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself, Malfoy. Thanks for that, though, I owe you one now." Hermione noticed he was smirking at her. "Oh, never mind," she sighed. "I'm going to bed."

"Good night, Granger," Draco replied in a sing-songy tone, waving tauntingly after her as she started towards the staircase descending to the dormitories.

As tempting as it was for her to let the gears of her mind grind to a halt for the night after the string of events the dance had led into, she found that she could not stop mulling over Draco's words about her excessive eagerness to change the wizarding world. Perhaps it was a trait that could be made useful somehow.

She was halfway down the stairs when she stopped in her tracks. No, this was not the Slytherin way. The Slytherin way, Professor Snape would have said, was to work with what one was given... and if instead of fighting it, she were to accept the wizarding world's blind obliviousness to Muggle values and lifestyle...

Hermione turned and ran back up the steps two at a time, skipping gleefully over the trick stair when she approached it. This was precisely the brilliant idea she'd been waiting for. She felt an immediate need to find Professor Snape, or better yet Dumbledore.

---

The burn was more than familiar enough to him, having been at its beck and call for nearly two decades. It was what made and broke his best-laid plans, what had the power to drag him away from both work and leisure, from sleeping, eating, lovemaking. But never before had the burn felt quite so unwelcome as it did in that moment, when his mind was so in turmoil.

Severus gritted his teeth and braced himself against the window frame. Strong emotion, especially fear, was one of the biggest hindrances to Occlumency. He pictured himself pushing all his emotions into a box in his mind, slammed the lid on it, and replaced them with a single assurance. _The Dark Lord has complete faith in you. You are the faithful servant of the Dark Lord._ He forced all other thoughts aside, clearing his mind in the manner he had learned from the Buddhist texts he'd read as a teenager.

"Professor!" Hermione Granger had come darting into the room just as he was moving to sweep out the door, the two of them nearly colliding beneath the lintel. He instinctively reached out to steady her, but stopped his hand before quite getting there. His prize pupil was... _oh, gods_. It had been a while since he'd seen her out of uniform, but apparently he'd missed the day she had turned into a woman. He was able to bring himself under control within a moment, but he feared a moment was already too long, and he had trained her far too well - she might have noticed his reaction. And so much for facing the Dark Lord with a clear mind.

Feeling more angry with himself than anything else, he excused himself quickly, suggesting she seek out McGonagall instead. He rushed down to his chambers and slammed the door behind him, still flushed and flustered as he rummaged for that hated silvery robe.

Esme emerged slithering out of the bedroom, ruffling her feathers as if she'd just been woken by the noise, and tasted the air with her forked tongue, giving him the reptilian equivalent of a skeptical glance. "You sssmell of pheromones, Severussss."

He gritted his teeth. "That's because I am a pervert who would do Nabakov proud." This was something best never thought of again. Severus sat for a moment and once again forced himself to clear his mind. If something was wrong, or if the Dark Lord had discovered something about him, he would know soon enough. He rose and swept to the door. "Do not wait up for me."

"I willll anyway."

Outside into the rain, down the hill to the apparation point and to the Dark Lord. His other personality, the blacker one, began to take over as he emerged in the darkened sub-basement and knelt to kiss the hem of his lord's robe. It always came flooding back to him so quickly, the darkness.

"Did your Order friends enjoy the assault on London?" the Dark Lord was asking with a smirk, the lurid glow of his eyes faintly visible in the blackness. His new body may have been that of an almost handsome young man, but there were some marks of the dark arts that no enchantment could conceal. The corrosive force with which the Dark Lord's eyes could burn their way into one's soul was one of them.

"They were as surprised as I, my lord," Severus replied as neutrally as possible, keeping his eyes averted to maintain as much of a shield around his mind as he could. To any other Death Eater watching, it could have passed for a gesture of deference, but Severus suspected that the Dark Lord had long been full aware of the true reason for his behaviors. Anyone capable of deceiving Dumbledore was capable of deceiving the Dark Lord as well, and vice versa. That was why he doubted he would live to see the war's end - both sides regarded him as too dangerous to be left alive.

"I enjoy keeping you guessing, Severus," the Dark Lord replied with a cold smile. "But I have a reward for you... something that should make up for my leaving you in ignorance..." He gestured in the direction of the door behind him. "The minister is in there. Avery and Nott are watching him. I want you to have the privilege of being the first to... show Fudge our hospitality."

Severus bowed again, feeling his pulse ever so slightly quicken. Was this some sort of test? It made little sense to summon him just to torture Fudge. Or perhaps the Dark Lord _wanted_ him to be having these very thoughts right now, wanted to see if he would hesitate, so the Dark Lord could gauge whether he was nervous or not? So many layers of intrigue the Dark Lord's machinations could span... Severus again pushed his mantra about being the perfect, faithful servant to the forefront of his mind. That would be all the Dark Lord saw. If this was indeed a test, Severus had no intention of failing.

To his own surprise, he found it wasn't nearly as difficult to disguise his unfaithful thoughts as it should have been. Indeed, there were few such thoughts to remove from his brain. In this moment, he was every bit the faithful servant. The darker Severus had taken over, and he had almost completely morphed into the young man he once was, when the blackness was the only thing in his soul. "It will be as you wish, my lord."

So this was why he so hated the silvery robe and the associations it conjured up, Severus mused to himself as he entered the rear chamber with wand raised. It wasn't because he hated the persona that went with it. It was because he still could not be entirely sure which of his two personalities was the real one.

The blackness was rushing through his veins once again. "Hello, Fudge." Behind the mask, Severus smiled coldly, the persona that was currently dominant preparing to relish the feeling of power that would come with this act, the weaker persona bracing itself in revulsion. "_Crucio_."

---

Her errand, she decided, could wait. It would be just as good an idea in the morning.

Her heart pounding, Hermione headed back down to her dormitory and slipped into her nightgown. The room was deserted, since it was still early and Queenie had not yet returned. Hermione slipped into her four-poster, pulled shut the drapes, and cast a quick silencing charm in case her roommate returned earlier than expected. Then, with a loud moan, she flopped over onto her stomach and began masturbating fast and furiously, thinking not of Ron and not of Draco, but only of the last brief encounter of the evening. She'd probably been imagining things, but did it matter? Every schoolgirl who was an overeager learner had dreamed at one point or another of shagging a teacher.

She ended up being one of the only people in the castle who did not learn of the events in London that night.


End file.
